


First. Not Last

by Caffinated_Story



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical Hetalia, Wallachia aka Romania
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 14:23:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7318762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffinated_Story/pseuds/Caffinated_Story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his young days, Turkey liked to paint himself as pretty fearless. He was slowly gaining a stronger foothold – a stronger presence. Yet the road to the top and becoming an Empire is never straight forward or easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> Fic written for Francofous.tumblr.com and Ottomanliest.tumblr.com

Turkey liked to paint himself as pretty fearless. Within his rights too, if he said so himself.  
He was slowly gaining a stronger foothold – a stronger presence.  
All people would soon know to fear him.

Compared to the other nations around him he was stronger and more skilled. If he saw something he wanted, then he'd take it.  
It was as simple as that.

His strong belief in himself and his people was ever growing, for each new place conquered he felt more and more powerful. An expansion of his borders meant a boost to his confidence and ego.  
He had crushed Serbia and continued onward.

A few failures and losses here and there of course, but Turkey chose to forget those.  
The world would remember his wins and gains, not his losses.  
So he continued. Refused to back down.

Young and naïve as he was, by nation standards, he insisted on joining in on any fray his people were in.

Despite his young appearance, Turkey was not mortal.  
A fact that saved his life many a times during the expansion of the Ottoman empire.

However, while deeming himself 'fearless' – some things were starting to unsettle him somewhat.

It had started after he'd finally taken over Bulgaria – the nation himself utterly bitter and resentful about the invasion, and seemingly even less impressed by being torn away from his friend – Wallachia. Turkey had heard Bulgaria mutter the name several times, but had yet to find the other nation or conquer it.  
That time would come, he was sure of it.  
He had won a few battles over Wallachia's people, but a nation like himself had yet to show their face.

Yet, things had seemed out of place after he brought Bulgaria with him home.  
Something moved when he wasn't quite paying attention or looking at it directly – and it was slowly starting to wear on him.

If he was a little more paranoid he would say something was following him, but Turkey didn't like dwelling on such thoughts.  
Besides, he was a rising empire!  
He was going to be undefeated!

So with a cocky grin and a puffed up chest, Turkey ignored the ill feeling that seemed to follow him and went about his business.  
After all, Empires did not concern themselves with feeling like fear and unease. That was for the weak.  
And Turkey was not weak. He was a rising power. An Empire in the making!  
If something was following him he would strike back and show them that he was what should be feared.

Thus Turkey decided to ignore the thing that seemed to creep in the shadows and focus on his duties.  
Patrolling and scouting.  
Two jobs he had really decided on his own he was going to do when there were no battles – and eventually his people had stopped trying to talk him out of it.  
If he wanted to wander off alone then he was going to do so.

Patrolling new borders was a relatively 'simple' task as far as the Turks were concerned.  
After all, he couldn't do much wrong there.

Thus Turkey strapped his sword to his belt and strolled out happily, fearless and keen on making a lasting impression on whomever would see him.  
He pushed all worries to the back of his mind and focused on being vigilant and alert.

However, as hours slowly passed him by and the sun began to take it's toll on his physical body, Turkey decided to take a rest for a brief moment.  
He found a nice and secluded spot surrounded by some bushes and trees. A place with shade and protection.  
Perfect, he thought as he surveyed his little 'resting spot'.

No one would find him here.

His little shadow, however, had been following him and Turkey was starting to wonder if it really was more than a shadow.

A branch crunched underneath someone’s feet behind him.

“Who's there?” Turkey asked, whirling around to try and catch a glimpse of whatever was following him.  
Not even the wind in the trees gave him an answer.

Turkey frowned and placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Come out of hiding you coward.” he challenged to the bushes.

Something sharp and hard whizzed past his face, gracing his cheek before it disappeared into the bushes.  
Turkey blinked, the sting of the wound slowly becoming more intense as he reached up and touched where the assaulting weapon had grazed him – fingers stained with his own blood as he removed them to inspect the damage.

“Show yourself,” he hissed as he glared in the direction where the weapon had come from. “I am the Ottoman Empire! You will kneel before me.”

“I don't kneel,” a small voice replied and Turkey narrowed his gaze on some bushes. The voice had come from there, he was sure of it.

“Up here, stupid,” the voice said again and Turkey winced as a small pebble hit him square in the head.

He shifted his gaze to the tree above him, trying to detect any movements between the leaves.  
“Come down from there,” he commanded. “Or I'll cut the tree down myself.”

“No way,” the voice said and Turkey finally caught sight of who his little assailant was.  
A boy.  
A young boy.  
Rage boiled within him.  
A mere child had wounded him?  
A mere child had made him bleed?  
Turkey was furious.

“See, now I really don't want to come down,” the boy said, balancing on a branch and smiling a toothy grin down at Turkey.

“Get down here,” Turkey near growled. “I am a great nation!”

“Are you? Well you're not my ruler,” the boy sneered in return and chucked another pebble at Turkey. “And you can't be a great nation. I've never heard of you being great in any way.” the boy added with a smirk and Turkey's blood began to boil.

“Keep that up and I'll drag you down from there myself,” Turkey hissed, wanting nothing more than to shake some sense into the little brat. No one dressed in rags and animal furs had any business telling him what to do!  
“My Sultan will surely teach you some manners!”

“No you won't. And why would I listen to your ruler? Anyone you call 'sultan' has to be as stupid as bread,” the boy stuck his tongue out at Turkey before laughing happily.

Turkey frowned, he had no idea who this child was, but he couldn't be human.  
Oh no, something about his eyes told Turkey this child was like him.  
That didn't make the situation any better.  
In fact, Turkey considered it a deceleration of war – if only he knew who the kid was.

“Get down here, I won't hurt you,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“No way,” he boy shook his head and made himself comfortable on the branch, swinging his little legs back and forth.  
“I don't want to be near you. You smell.”

“I.. what?” Turkey barked, letting his anger get the better off him. “I do not.”

“Yeah you do.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!” the boy laughed and flashed Turkey a toothy grin.  
Turkey swore the boy had fangs – which probably meant the kid was a little feral child of a nation.  
Probably unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but Turkey had never been good at letting grudges go.

“Get down here or I'll throw my sword at you,” Turkey threatened, but the little boy didn't seem to be scared by his threats.

“You'd probably just miss,” the boy shrugged and grinned. “I heard you're pretty bad at aiming.”

“Who's spread such lies about me?”

“The wind. The plants. The animals,” the boy gestured lazily around him. “My friends. Your enemies...”

Turkey narrowed his eyes and glared coldly at the boy. He appeared to know a little too much to be a simple feral nation.

“Who are you?”

“Wallachia!” the boy declared with immense pride. 

“Wallachia?” Turkey grimaced. This little animal of a nation was the other part of Bulgaria's former Empire? That simply could not be.

“The one and only,” Wallachia replied with a grin, pulling out another rock from a little leather pouch tied to his belt, throwing it up in the air and catching it with expert precision.

Turkey watched him with unease.  
The kid wasn't human, which mean he probably shouldn't take him for granted.  
Physically he was clearly older than Wallachia, but Turkey didn't lower his guard just yet.  
Wallachia had successfully wounded him.  
That was no mere feat.

“What business do you have with me?” Turkey asked.

“None,” Wallachia shrugged. “But you took my friend away, so...” he didn't say anything else, but Turkey didn't like the smile he was given.

“Your friend?” Turkey repeated, sneaky suspicion about what the answer would be.

“Bulgaria,” Wallachia replied. “If he's not happy then I'm not happy. And if we're not happy then you're not allowed to be either.”

“You're going to hold a grudge against me for doing what any Empire would do?” Turkey scoffed. Of course Wallachia considered Bulgaria his friend as much as Bulgaria considered him. He'd perhaps misjudged their loyalty to one another.

“You're no Empire,” Wallachia sing-songed. “Bulgaria and I were.”

“I will be!” Turkey spat back at him. “And I'll be greater than that little pipsqueak and you ever were too.”

“You're barely older than me,” Wallachia hummed happily, kicking his legs back and forth and sticking his tongue out at Turkey. 

“How dare you, you little brat!” Turkey hissed.

“I'm no brat,” Wallachia smiled. “I'm a nation.”

“You're a brat of a nation then,” Turkey grimaced. “One who can't dress or bathe it seems.”  
He couldn't understand how a fellow nation would dress in such torn clothes – for not to mention the utter mess that was the young boy's hair.  
Turkey really hoped he didn't normally walk around with twigs and leaves in it, because if so he'd probably have a pest issue when he conquered Wallachia's country too.  
“If anyone smells here it's clearly you.”

“I smell good,” Wallachia grinned. “The wolves think so at least.”

“Wolves?” Turkey tried to look around him without it being too obvious. He couldn't let a tiny insignificant brat know he was getting to him.

“Yes. It's how I found you. You smell weird so they make it easy to track you.”

Turkey really didn't like how easily Wallachia said that.  
Nor did he like how the kid smiled so knowingly when he took a small step away from the tree.

“You like a warm drink at night. You light a candle a little before it gets dark, and even more when it goes really dark. You practice with your sword for two hours every day and you successfully beat one of the adult guards yesterday in a sparring match,” Wallachia said. “I know where you sleep, where you eat and where you bathe. I know where you keep your sword at night and what time you wake up in the morning.”

“You've been watching me...” Turkey felt horribly uneasy. The shadow had been Wallachia all along.

“You took my friend away. So now I'm bored and angry,” Wallachia replied coolly – words and tone at odds with the smile still plastered on his face.

“And you want revenge? Is that it?” Turkey closed the grip on the hilt of his sword, widening his stance ever so slightly.

“Eventually. But not yet. Too easy now. No fun chasing a cornered rabbit,” Wallachia hummed.

“I'm not cornered.” Turkey frowned. “You're the one sitting in the tree like an open target.”

“And you've only got a sword with you. You left everything else behind,” Wallachia replied, smile growing more and more sinister.

Turkey couldn't say he was very fond of kids, and Wallachia was making his distaste grow stronger by the minute.  
Either he was just this creepy by default, or he was possessed by a daemon. Turkey didn't really like either alternative.

“Still not cornered,” Turkey replied, meeting Wallachia's gaze with a glare of his own.

“Yeah you are,” Wallachia smirked.

Behind him something made a twig snap, and against his better judgement Turkey whirled around.

He expected an ambush of humans.  
Armed to the teeth and ready to take him down.  
But there was no army with weapons for teeth.

Oh no.  
It was wolves.  
Wolves with teeth for weapons.

'You're not human. You're immortal. You can survive this easily.' – Turkey told himself over and over again in his head as the wolves snarled at him while Wallachia laughed happily from his little vantage point up in the tree.

“Too scared to face me alone, so you bring dogs with you?” Turkey sneered as he drew his sword.

“They simply helped sniff you out. Even if that's not very hard.” Wallachia replied.  
Turkey swore he was going to dunk the kid in soap and perfume for a week when he got his hands on him. And make some nice throws out of the wolves' pelts too. 

“Listen here, you little monster,” Turkey took a step away from the wolves, keeping his back to Wallachia but glancing over his shoulder as he addressed the kid. “I am much more powerful than you, so I suggest you make a run for it before I shove your little puny weapons down your throat.”

“Ha!” Wallachia looked as if he was seconds away from tumbling off the branch with laughter. “You can try!”

Turkey gritted his teeth and hoped his anger was enough to overshadow his fear.  
“You've picked the wrong Empire to mess with,” he warned darkly. “Mark my words. You will pay for this.”

“I've not done anything to any Empire,” Wallachia smiled before placing his fingers to his lips and whistling loudly.

Turkey froze as the wolves circled him slowly before they moved away and beneath the tree.  
Nation or not, he wasn't really happy anyone could 'control' wild animals so easily.

“In fact, you're the one who's been messing with Empires. That's probably not a good idea,” Wallachia added as he jumped down from the tree.  
For someone with the body of a 6 year old, Turkey had to admit that was one impressive landing.

“Well, we'll see soon enough who's going to come out on top,” Turkey bit back.

“Sure we will,” Wallachia smiled. “I'll see you around! Although, you might not see me...”

Turkey tried to conceal the shudder that ran down his back.

Wallachia's cheerful laugh didn't make the situation better, nor did he appreciate how the little kid waved goodbye at him before he and the wolves disappeared from view.

Deeply unsettled and wishing nothing more than to get home as soon as possible, Turkey hurried back as fast as he could.

There were many questions to be answered and much to be learned about his 'enemies'.  
Turkey didn't lessen his grip on his sword until he was within the safety of his own city and his own house – even then he refused to leave his weapons behind.

Paranoid?  
Certainly not.  
Empires weren’t paranoid.  
Empires were simply careful until they knew the enemy as well as the enemy knew them.

And Turkey intended on making Wallachia swallow his own little sharp stones one by one once he got his hands on the little brat.

No one mocked him and got away with it easily.

Wallachia would learn that the hard way.


	2. Not the Last

Turkey stared at the little leather pouch in his hand and the selection of sharp stones within it.

“Well that brings back memories,” he grimaced, pocketing the pouch before he continued cleaning out his home.  
He proceeded to forget about the little pouch until he sat back down again at night with a nice little cup of coffee.

“Fucking rocks,” Turkey grumbled as he pulled it back out of of his pockets, glaring bitterly at the old weapons.  
“Stupid kid,” he sneered at the memory of Romania up in the tree.

Then he had an idea.  
A really awful one.  
But an idea none the less.  
An idea Romania most likely wouldn't like or enjoy at all.  
Which was why it was a brilliant plan.

Turkey was patient.   
He had to be.  
If not it would all be wasted.

There had to be a big meeting – the more nations the better.  
And he had to place himself far enough away from Romania to avoid immediate suspicion, but not so far that he couldn't see the frustration and anger that was bound to appear on Romania's face.

 

Three weeks after his re-discovery of the old Wallachian “Weapon”, Turkey got his chance.

The first stone hit Romania's little hat and bounced right onto Bulgaria's shoulder before hitting the table.

Romania picked the stone up, looked at it with confusion before pocketing it with a shrug.

Turkey threw another – hitting him right in the forehead this time.

He pretended to pay attention to England's speech as he saw Romania rub his now sore head and glare at the small stone.  
Reasons #24 why wearing a mask was a brilliant idea. A step down from sunglasses but it worked.

'Revenge.' Turkey thought to himself as he readied another small stone.

This time he missed his mark, only making the stone whiz past Romania's head and hit the wall behind him instead.  
Still, it had some effect, because Romania turned around and tried to retrieve the small stone without causing too much of a scene.

Which Turkey couldn't have. So he threw another one, this time hitting Romania's face right on target as he struggled to balance his chair on it's hind legs to retrieve the previous projectile.  
Turkey smirked as Romania tumbled backwards and off the chair – the loud noise making everyone turn around to stare at him.

“Romania,” England sighed.

“Sorry!” Romania laughed and stood up from the floor. “I was being attacked,” he added with a smile.

“Sure, please sit down and pay attention,” England frowned and straightened his papers up before trying to regain everyone's attention.

“Yeah, yeah,” Romania mumbled, and Turkey could hardly contain his glee.  
He was running out of stones now, but he still had the leather pouch and the moment Romania's eyes fell on him he displayed it proudly.

Confusion, shock and anger played across Romania's face when he recognised the little leather pouch in Turkey's hand.

“Give it back,” Romania hissed across the table.

“Not on your life,” Turkey whispered triumphantly in return.

Bulgaria wasn't sure what was going on, but Turkey figured that wouldn't last long.

“Give it back or your ugly mask won't be enough to hide your ugly face when I'm done with you,” Romania threatened quietly.

“What are you going to do? Tarot card read me to death?” Turkey scoffed, thankful South Italy had started a loud argument with his brother and Germany, meaning he didn't have to be too quiet himself.

“You can only hope your curse will be swift and painless,” Romania grumbled. “I want my stuff back.”

“It's mine now,” Turkey smirked.

“Oh my god, please behave, we are at a meeting!” Bulgaria hissed at them both, gripping his pen tightly and for a moment Turkey wondered how much damage Bulgaria could do with it.

“He started it,” Turkey shrugged.

“Me?” Romania's eyes went wide before they narrowed into a cold glare. “You started throwing them.”

“I think we can both agree you threw the first stone...” Turkey leaned back in his chair and smiled smugly.

“Are... are you holding a grudge for something I did about 600 years ago?” Romania blinked.

“Maybe,” Turkey shrugged. “You were a real annoying brat.”

He grinned as Bulgaria's, Egypt and Moldova had to cooperate to restrain Romania.  
'Just like the good old days,' Turkey thought to himself as Romania cursed loudly at him from across the table.  
Some things simply never changed.


End file.
